


Bloom

by Cyme



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, J/B Shuffled Challenge, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyme/pseuds/Cyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had been through so much together, fought loyally side-by-side, but Brienne had never been true to him, as she had never been true to herself. She was the worst kind of oath breaker – all smoke and mirrors and no honor. </p>
<p>An entry in the Jaime/Brienne Shuffled Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Ach, another J/B Shuffled entry! I can’t help myself, folks. 
> 
> The song is “Bloom” by The Paper Kites, and if you’ve never heard it before, drop what you’re doing and look it up because it is simply beautiful. Here’s hoping I did it a fraction of the justice it deserves! 
> 
> See end notes for lyrics, or you can find the music video online. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Brienne rose before the dawn, her back stiff and feet numb. Winter was coming; she could taste it on the air. It had snowed twice over the past two weeks, but both times the snow melted not long after it reached the ground.

Soon winter would blanket the hills in a muffled shroud, but not this morning. This morning would be bright and clear. The sky stretched taut above their camp, a faint murmur of sunrise cresting just over the trees to the east. 

Brienne rolled her shoulders to shake off the cold. She glanced around at the dark shapes that were her companions: her squire Podrick, Lady Sansa, Ser Hyle and Ser Jaime. They lay sleeping in a circle around the dying embers of the fire pit. Brienne stepped across her bedroll, the soles of her boots rasping against the frozen ground, and paused to see if they would wake at the noise. The shapes remained motionless, and she heaved a sigh. 

It was Jaime’s watch, but he had fallen asleep again. Brienne stole past him and saw that his arms were folded inside his cloak, his head tucked against his chest. A light breeze stirred his golden curls as she watched him. She could not fault Jaime for the rest – they were all weary from the long march north from the Vale.

Treading quietly, Brienne clutched her thick wool cloak around her shoulders. She headed into the trees at the edge of the clearing where they’d made their camp. They would need fuel to feed their fire. 

The woods were still and silent, the ground covered with mottled, yellow leaves. The rising sun cast a pale blush across the sky over the little copse of trees, and slivers of light began to creep along their trunks. Brienne breathed the earthy scent of loam and bark until her body hummed with peace. 

The mornings were her favorite time, quiet and calm. The frenzy of the day had not yet begun, and for a few brief moments, Brienne could pretend that they were not mired in a sea of war – that the countryside was not ravaged by outlaws and rogue armies, with winter bearing down on them like a volley of arrows from the north. 

Brienne liked to pretend that she was just a knight, traveling the hills with brave friends in the name of honor and glory. They were not running to or from something. There were no blue-eyed monsters in the forests, and the only dragons they knew were those in ancient stories. 

Silly thoughts, Brienne knew, but the truth was brutal and it did not hurt to dream. And besides, these trees did not have ears hear and mouths to spread her secrets. 

The sharp crack of breaking wood made Brienne pause in her search. She listened for the muffled step of boots on leaves and looked around. Jaime halted several paces away from her, partially obscured by the trunk of a large poplar, his hood drawn up around his face. 

“Are you following me, Kingslayer?” she called. Brienne was relieved to see a smile touch Jaime’s lips at the jest. She waited as he moved to join her. 

“You did not wake me,” said Jaime accusingly. Mirth lit his green eyes and she knew that he was teasing her. 

Brienne did not hesitate to respond in kind. “I was afraid you would not stay awake if I did,” she replied. “You are a terrible watchman, Ser.”

Jaime sighed and moved further into the trees, gathering branches as he went. Brienne followed, frowning at his sudden pensive mood. She wished she knew what to say to make him laugh – she loved to hear him laugh.

“I am tired to the bones,” said Jaime. And then, softer, “I am tired of running.” She could not tell if he said it to her, or if he directed his confession at the trees. 

“As are we all,” Brienne murmured, and Jaime gave her a fleeting look. She felt a blush creep into her face and stooped to grab a paltry stick at her feet, hoping her movements would excuse the redness in her cheeks. 

She did not know why Jaime still made her nervous, but he did. They had been traveling for so long and had been through so much together that she could feel all at once comfortable and skittish around the man. 

She did not blame Jaime for her mistrust; she considered him her closest friend. But if Brienne was honest with herself, it was not in her nature to trust another person. Her heart had been betrayed enough times to teach her that lesson. Loneliness could be a harsh companion, but disappointment harsher still. 

“Are the others awake?” Brienne asked finally, adding her twig to the pile of wood in Jaime’s arms. Her face heated again as she considered how absurd it looked in relation to the robust branches they collected. She hoped Jaime would think it kindling to start the fire again, and not proof of her awkwardness. 

“No,” said Jaime, watching her with a bemused expression. “They sleep.” She could have died. 

“Tell me, Brienne,” he asked, considering her a moment longer, “what is it that calls you to the trees at first light? I know you are no stranger to the dawn.”

Brienne shook her head and turned back toward their camp. Bird song echoed in the woods, and above, the sky had turned a shivering blue. How could she describe the newness of morning to Jaime? He was a fire that burned eagerly until sheer exhaustion snuffed him out. The man did not know how to sit still and unmoving unless he did so in the manacles of sleep. 

“I cannot tell you, Ser,” Brienne said finally. 

Jaime did not like that answer. “You will not tell me your secrets, wench.” 

Brienne grimaced at the accusation in his voice, as if she were his betrayer. The trees around them were filled with memories of feelings never told, but she could not say that to Jaime. She was afraid that he would laugh at her and tease her, leave her exposed to all the hopes that would never come into fruition. Bless the gods for trees that could not talk!

“I would not laugh at you,” said Jaime, as if he could hear her thoughts. 

Brienne did not respond. Suddenly, she could not breathe beneath those trees, all of her desires crowding around her in a flurry of shame. She trudged on through the woods until her boots reached the safety of the clearing, painted gold in the growing light. 

She set her firewood down at the edge of their camp and then moved to tend the fire. A few moments later, Jaime dropped his wood beside her. She waited for him to say something, but Jaime turned abruptly and headed off to check their horses. 

Brienne’s shoulders sagged under the weight of disappointment. She would send him a thousand ravens, if she did not have to see his expression when he read their messages. But she could not say the words to his face. 

Across the camp, the others were stirring. Podrick sat up on his bedroll and rubbed his eyes. He looked so young in the morning, his face puffy with sleep. Brienne often forgot that he was barely a boy grown. Next to Podrick, Hyle Hunt cleared his throat and stood, stretching as Brienne had done earlier. 

“Fire out again?” Hunt asked, and Brienne nodded. He grunted and moved towards the trees to relieve himself of the night’s water. 

Brienne’s eyes slipped to the slender form that was Sansa. The lady was still huddled beneath her cloak, her pale face the only visible part of her. Sansa was watching Hunt’s retreating back with stormy eyes that made Brienne feel as if trespassed on secret thoughts. She moved her attention back to the fire smoking in front of her. 

When the wood finally caught and orange flames licked the branches, Brienne stood to pack her bedroll. Jaime had not returned, but Hunt had; he was heating leftover chunks of rabbit on the hot stones around the fire, rotating the pieces to warm them through. Podrick and Sansa watched the hunks of rabbit hungrily. Brienne’s stomach rumbled at the scent of cooking meat, but there was not enough to go around. She would leave the warm meal to her companions and eat whatever hardtack she happened upon in her own stores. 

She found Jaime sitting on a fallen tree close to their horses. His sword was on his lap, a sharpening stone in his left hand. He halted in his task when he saw her. Brienne thought he might protest when she lowered herself onto the log beside him, but Jaime ducked his head and went back to sharpening the blade, the steel singing with each deft stroke of stone. 

After a time, Jaime’s hand stilled and ringing metal settled into a relaxed hush. They sat there for what felt like an eternity, although Brienne knew just a few minutes passed. Soon they would be riding, heading deeper into the north, toward Winterfell and the Wall. She would have countless lonely mornings to herself. The thought was not a happy one. 

She glanced at Jaime, only to find him watching her with a raw expression. Brienne cursed at the familiar heat that stole up her neck and across her cheeks. There was expectation in his eyes, but she could not say the words he waited to hear. 

Instead she murmured, “Trust does not come easy to me, Ser.” 

Jaime said nothing, and she swallowed in the silence. His eyes echoed the betrayal she had caught in his voice before. She felt guilt swoop and pitch in her stomach like a wild thing. All she wanted to do was reach out and touch him, make his eyes shine and his face light up again. She could not take Jaime broken and despondent. It did not suit her. 

“You would see me lay myself bare?” she whispered. Fear made her voice crack like kindling on the flame. 

“I would hear your secrets, Brienne,” Jaime replied softly, “as you have heard mine.”

He could not have wounded her more had he drove his blade through her heart. They had been through so much together, fought loyally side-by-side, but Brienne had never been true to him, as she had never been true to herself. She was the worst kind of oath breaker – all smoke and mirrors and no honor. 

Suddenly, Brienne was weeping. They were ugly tears, she knew. They caught on her ruined cheek and dripped off her nose, but she made no move to wipe them away. 

“You fill my head,” she choked finally. “You fill my head with pieces of a song I cannot forget. ”

A sob rose up from somewhere deep within her, carrying memories of Renly, her brother Galladon, her father – all the men she had dared to love. Did they know she would have gladly died for them? How could they? Brienne was a miserable creature with nothing but silence on her tongue. 

Jaime’s sword made a soft clang as it slid to the ground beside them. His arms were around her, the stump of his right arm pressed firmly into her back. He drew her to him, and Brienne cried harder, imagining what a sight they must make – a big, unsightly woman sobbing into the shoulder of this golden knight. 

“Brienne, Brienne,” Jaime whispered against her hair. His good hand wiped the tears from her cheeks. “If you only knew how wretched you make me feel.” 

Brienne sniffed and pulled out of his arms. “Wretched?” 

Jaime reached out to touch her face, his fingers trailing over the scar on her cheek, pausing at the wetness there. “You have heard my misdeeds, my dishonor and my failings. And when I ask you for the same, all you offer me is hope for my own vindication.” 

Brienne did not understand what he was saying. She shook her head. “I don’t…” 

“You are the best part of me,” said Jaime firmly. “The very best.” 

He searched her face. “Do you know what I would do to be worthy of your love?”

Brienne began to cry again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She was all water, it seemed, drowning in his words. They filled her lungs with sweetness. 

“We are pitiful creatures,” Brienne said finally. “Oath breakers both of us.”

“Without honor,” Jaime replied, seeming to understand her meaning and grab hold. 

He touched her face again, and Brienne did not pull away when he leaned toward her, his gaze on her lips, her scar, her eyes. She let him take in all of her – all that she had to give, and whatever else he chose to find there. It was his. 

Jaime brushed her lips with his, hesitantly, testing her reaction. Brienne froze at the unfamiliar touch, warm and soft. She ached with its fleetingness. The sky was full of ravens, black as night. Her ravens. All her secrets and her hopes, every confession she buried in bark and branches and leaves. They were in her fingers that played against his tunic and at his knee. They were blooming on her tongue and in her cheeks. She would give them all to Jaime for another chance to feel his lips against her own. 

“Jaime,” she whispered like a sigh, a prayer, pressing in to his unfamiliar caress, his breath hot against her mouth. She found the words she did not have before, the words that made the morning hum. “Can I be close to you?” 

Jaime did not answer, only covered her mouth with his. The trees around them disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> In the morning when I wake  
> And the sun is coming through,  
> Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,  
> And you fill my head with you.
> 
> Shall I write it in a letter?  
> Shall I try to get it down?  
> Oh, you fill my head with pieces  
> Of a song I can't get out.
> 
> Can I be close to you?  
> Ooh-oo-oo-ooh, ooh (simile).  
> Can I be close to you?  
> Ooh, ooh.
> 
> Can I take it to a morning  
> Where the fields are painted gold  
> And the trees are filled with memories  
> Of the feelings never told?
> 
> When the evening pulls the sun down,  
> And the day is almost through,  
> Oh, the whole world it is sleeping,  
> But my world is you.
> 
> Can I be close to you?  
> (Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).  
> Can I be close to you?  
> (Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).
> 
> *whistling*
> 
> Can I be close to you?  
> (Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).  
> Can I be close to you?  
> (Ah) ooh (aah), ooh (aah).
> 
> Can I be close to you?  
> Ooh, ooh.


End file.
